Honest Conversation Is Overrated

Synopsis of the week so far. Call airline to let them know I have no ID. Am advised to kill myself, there is no way on plane. Call VT DMV to find out how to get new ID. Am advised to call AZ DMV. Call AZ DMV. Am advised to get lost. I consider going Greyhound. Get good info from Steggy. Get an e-mail from a police officer/poet/friend informing me I need only file a report with the PD, and they'll give me paperwork to get on my flight (which is now the third scheduled flight on the third different airline).

I call the PD, fill out an incident/lost ID report. Am advised to call VT DMV, that they will fax a copy of my ID to me. Call VT DMV. Am advised that it is against federal law to fax me any ID info. This makes me comfortable security wise, decidedly cross on getting-homewise. They suggest I call the AZ DMV, that they can help me. Call AZ DMV. They are completely useless and can do nothing. They are the only people I called that are both useless AND rude. I call the airlines and update them on my situation: no ID, no ID related paperwork, one copy of my incident report. Am advised that I will probably be able to get a boarding pass, but that the gvt. security has the right not to let me on the plane without ID. I call the gvt. agency (Flight Security or something). Am informed by a very nice lady that apart from checking my bags, I should have no problem with the gvt. security, but that the airline will probably not give me a boarding pass. Call airline again. Update them on the gvt. security issue. Am advised that it's not up to them or the gvt. agency, but Phoenix Skyway. Call Phoenix Skyway. Am advised that it's not up to them, but really the airline.

The terrorists have already won. I just want to get the fuck home.

ATA airlines to the rescue. I don't know what ATA stands for, but they promise to give me a boarding pass, and let me deal with security. I damn near crawl through the phone and give the lady on the other end cunnilingus. You have no idea how much I have to love a person to offer that.

My flight leaves on the 26th. Tomorrow. A day too late to spend Christmas with my family, but at least it gets me out of this fucken town. To celebrate, I throw on my bathing suit and head out to do water angels in the pool. Soon enough I'll be able to do snow angels. For now, this is comforting.

Several...ok, two...very kind people have offered to include me in their Christmas plans. Nelson has done enough for me. He got me a job, he tried his best to keep me from killing certain people who could have used a good dying, he even had me over for Thanksgiving for an amazing meal with his family. Fox invited me, as well. But, like Nelson, he's done so much that I don't want to infringe on him anymore. He offered to get me out of my roommate's house long before I was unhappy there. He helped me move my stuff to his apartment, where I'm not paying rent, I even had to talk him down last week when my ex-roommate came buy to pick up the last check. I really thought he was going to rip the skin off her face and shove it down her sanctimonious throat.

Because I didn't want to alter their Christmas plans, I am on my own. I've got all the ingredients for , a computer, a DVD of my favorite gay porn, and a two liter bottle of Cherry Coke. It's entirely possible that this Christmas will only Mostly Suck.

I toss the sauce I made for the ground nut stew last night in the microwave, put some rice on the stove, and turn on the TV. I don't want to risk being distracted by porn or The Internet while the food is cooking. The only things on TV are "The Married With Children Christmas" and "A Very Brady Christmas". I am officially in Hell. Although, "A Very Brady Christmas" isn't nearly as bad as I'd imagined. It's a reunion show. The kids are all grown up. Dad Brady is very obviously making eyes at Greg Brady. All in all it's---why is the fire alarm going off? FUCK!!!! THE RICE!!!!

I rush to the stove, pull off the pot. Curse myself for not thinking to use a towel. Put my now burned hand under some cold water. It doesn't look too bad. I grab a towel, pick up the pot and begin scraping the rice into the garbage disp---oh fuck. You don't put rice in the garbage disposal. I dig out as much as I can and then hit the switch. Grind grind grind grind grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgrgrgrgrgrgrgr grgrrg sputter wheeze. Fuck.

I open all the doors and windows, and turn on all the fans, blowing the burned rice smell throughout Fox's condo complex. Here's the smell of my holiday cheer Ari-fucken-zona! I then go to scrub the rice that burned into the bottom of the pan in the sink.

Joy of joys, my garbage disposal breaking is causing the sink to back up. How am I supposed to clean up this mess if I can't use the si...ahhh, I'll use the shower.

I don't think it's possible for anyone, even people who've known me for years, to imagine the look on my face when I realized the rice that was blocking the sink/garbage disposal in the kitchen, was now floating up into the bathtub. This was really Not Good. Fox was Not Going to be Happy.

I cleaned up as best I could, popped the DVD in the computer, and prepared to pop myself.

Just as I was cruising down Ejaculation Alley, Fox came home. I turned off the computer and zipped up. Most of the smoke had cleared, but he has Wolverine's sense of smell. "Burned rice?" he asked as soon as he walked in.

"Yeup."

"Hope you didn't try and get rid of it in the garbage disposal."

Velociraptor look.

"You did, didn't you? Fuck. I did it a couple of months ago. I had to call the condo people to fix it."

Man, my fuck up wasn't even original?

"I brought you some of the Girlie Beer that you left at The Kuk's house. If you put the red and green Skittlez in the Stoli Razz, it's almost like being festive."